


Extenuating Circumstances

by Fragged



Series: Basic Needs [3]
Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fragged/pseuds/Fragged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their excuse for doing this is long gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extenuating Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> [Sequel to [Desublimation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3122690)]

“There's nothing in here,” Young says with a nonplussed expression that draws a smirk to Rush's face. They're in a storage closet, right outside the control interface room, and Rush has just closed the door behind them. 

“I wouldn't say that,” he answers, before he pushes Young up against the wall and kisses him. Young's reaction is instinctive and immediate; his mouth opens up to him as his eyes fall closed, and Rush doesn't think he'll ever get enough of the implicit compliance that comes so easily to Young when they do this. 

Rush lets his hands roam under Young's jacket, under his shirt, until he can scratch his nails over Young's sides just a bit too roughly. Young groans into the kiss, and tightens his arms around Rush's back, and then looks confused when Rush breaks away. 

“You might want to keep it down, Colonel,” he whispers, his amusement contending with his arousal. “The only thing separating us from the science team is the wall at your back. And sound tends to travel through metal.” 

“What?” Young asks quietly, and he seems quite out of it already. He always has trouble shifting gears when they get physical. Rush would find it irritating if it wasn't so goddamn endearing. 

“Unless you want the entire science team to barge in on us,” he purrs into Young's ear, “You're going to have to keep very quiet while I suck you off.” 

Young lets out a hard breath, and Rush feels a grin break out on his face. He hides it by unzipping Young's jacket and mouthing at his neck. The sensitive skin is soft and hot under his lips, and the scent of Young permeates his senses. He loves the way Young smells. It's smooth and warm and slightly musky, and for some reason it reminds him of the most excellent, high-quality olive oil he's ever tasted. 

“Do you want me?” Rush whispers against the shell of his ear. His body is flush against Young's, and the heat coming off the other man is addictive. 

“Yeah,” Young breathes out shakily, quiet enough that Rush almost doesn't catch it. 

“Say it,” he demands, before nipping sharply at Young's earlobe. The short, bitten-off moan he gets in response goes straight to his cock. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Young curses breathily. “Rush, we can't do this here.” 

Rush smiles against the skin of Young's neck. They won't be disturbed. He's designed a special piece of cryptography just for this; it will take Eli at least half an hour to crack it, and that's only if he finds it in the first place. Young doesn't need to know that, though. 

“If you don't say it, I won't let you come, Colonel.” 

It sends a shiver of something – power, wonderment, pure lust – through him, the way Young reacts to this. He lets his head fall forward with a deep groan, and inhales unsteadily against Rush's shoulder. 

When he looks back up, his eyes glint in the dark. 

“Yes, alright? I want you. God, I really fucking want you, always.” Young's voice is slightly too loud, and Rush feels his fingers tighten strenuously on his back. 

“Hmm,” Rush says quietly, before biting a soft kiss into Young's jaw. “Nice.” 

Then he sinks to his knees and works on opening Young's uniform trousers. The buttons give way under his fingertips easily, and when he pushes the fabric down his thighs, he's greeted by the sight of Young's stiff cock, hard and ready and already moistening at the tip. 

For a split second he wants to make a terrible joke, something about the commanding officer going commando, but instead he wraps his fingers around the silky length and gives it a few exploratory pumps before wetting his lips. 

Above him, Young's gaze rests on him heavily, tracking his every movement with a speechless curiosity, and Rush holds eye contact as he slowly leans forward to lap once, twice, at the head of his prick. 

“Jesus, _Rush_ ,” Young breathes out shakily, and when Rush keeps going, pausing only to press a suckling kiss against the ridge where shaft meets glans, Young muffles a moan by pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. 

He already looks utterly ruined, and Rush soaks it up like a sponge. Fuck, but the Colonel looks good like this; when Rush takes charge, demands his attention and takes him apart, lavishing him with pleasure until he can't think straight... 

There's a certain aesthetic appeal to Young, one that took him quite a while to recognize, but once seen it can't be unseen. And it's most enthralling when Young is shaking with desire, when he's so overcome by how _good_ he feels that he stops worrying about anything other than the sensations washing over him. 

God, it's gotten to the point that whenever Rush feels the need to take himself in hand for some physical release – which has become significantly less frequent since this whole thing with Young started – he simply imagines Young on the edge of orgasm; the way his face looks, the way his skin flushes, the way his body trembles right before he comes, and that's all he needs. Of course, it's never quite as satisfying as witnessing it in person. 

He leans in closer and takes Young into his mouth, mapping out every millimeter of skin with his tongue, until Young tangles a hand in Rush's hair and gently tugs him back. 

“Rush, wait,” he pants out, clearly attempting to keep his voice down. “What if someone comes in?” 

Rush smirks, and runs his fingers lightly over Young's length. “Best be quick about it then, huh?” he answers, before keenly sucking Young's cock back into his mouth.

Young whimpers, and Rush is pretty sure he hears a muted “Fuck!” when he thuds his head back against the wall hard enough to produce a hollow metal knock. 

Rush's own prick is pushing insistently against his zipper, and he'd hoped they would have more time for this, but there's a good chance the people in the control interface room heard that sound just now, and fuck, he really wants to come. Perhaps he didn't think this all the way through. 

With one hand, he flicks open his trousers and pushes his pants out of the way. 

It's easy, to find a rhythm, tugging gently at himself in time with his mouth on Young, sucking and gliding over his cock smoothly. 

Usually Young doesn't hold back his voice; his sounds will spill from his lips without censure, and it always drives Rush wild to hear him lose control. But this... The sharp inhales, the bitten-off noises, the tension knotting through Young's entire frame as Rush speeds his movements; there's something quite thrilling about this as well. The wet slide of his lips over Young's prick sounds almost deafening in the small room.

His knees are starting to ache from the metal deck plating, but for some reason it doesn't diminish his pleasure in the slightest. All it does is compound his desire until it becomes an almost tangible entity that twists its way throughout his entire body. Here he is, on his knees in front of Young, sucking his cock and touching himself, the chance of someone walking in greater than zero, and still Young is the one at _his_ mercy. 

God, he's really close. The way Young clenches his fists into the fabric of his own jacket mirrors the tightness coiling in Rush's lower belly. 

“Don't stop,” Young breathes, and even though it's quiet enough that Rush almost misses it entirely, there's a world of desperation in his voice. 

Rush muffles a groan against Young's arousal, swallowing reflexively around the pulsing head in his mouth, and slides his hand faster over himself. He's close, he's so fucking close, and then Young touches his hand in his hair with a tight, barely audible moan, and Young is coming. 

He takes it, swallows it all, doesn't spill a drop as he continues to stroke himself at a punishing pace. His other hand moves down to the head of his prick and teases his fingers over it, swirling through the slick mess of precome, creating a delicious juxtaposition of contrasting friction. 

“Yeah, come on, Rush,” Young whispers above him, and that's it, Rush's mouth falls open and his eyes squeeze shut, and then he is spilling hot onto his own fingers, his orgasm ripping through him, shooting sparks of tingling pleasure throughout his entire body. Young's spent cock still rests on his tongue, and fuck, it takes everything he has to stay quiet.

When he's done, he stays where he is for a few long seconds, lapping his tongue against Young's oversensitive head a few times, until Young's hand ruffles in his hair to tug him up, higher. Then he's back on his feet, their faces mere inches away from each other. 

Young's bleary smile takes his breath away, and when Young drags his face closer to kiss him, Rush doesn't have to think about wrapping his right arm around Young, between the hollow of his back and the wall, and pulling them closer together. Young slides his tongue into his mouth with a contented little noise, and cards his fingers through Rush's hair until his hands lace together on the back of his neck. It's gentle, and slow, and he really fucking loves it when Young gets like this. When they do this not because they're in the throes of passion, but simply because they can. 

After they break apart, Young gives him a sated look, and then he grabs Rush's dirty hand and examines it for a moment. Rush looks on in stunned silence as Young brings it closer to his mouth and flicks his tongue out to lick the mess right off his fingers. _Fuck_ , that's downright filthy. The way Young's eyes stay trained on his, the hot flicker of that tongue against his skin, the pure depravity of it—if he was twenty years younger it would've been enough to have him roaring to go again. 

Rush might let out an embarrassing whimper as Young sucks and laves at his digits until they're clean. Or, at least marginally cleaner than before. When Young is done, he places an almost chaste kiss on the pad of Rush's thumb, before letting go of his hand again. 

Rush can't help his smile. No one is banging on the door yet, there aren't even any voices outside. They have time for one more kiss. 

As he slips his tongue inside Young's mouth, tasting himself there, mingling their flavors until he's not sure what's him and what's Young anymore, he wonders when he stopped keeping track of how often they've done this. 

Then Young curls his arms around the small of Rush's back and pulls their bodies closer together, and he decides it really doesn't matter. 

-

Rush scribbles another line in his notebook as he leans back in his chair. He's running shipwide diagnostics; necessary, but largely uneventful, and he tends to spend this time multitasking. 

He frowns down at his calculations, trying to figure out a way to manipulate the parameters of...his eyes catch on the pencil in his hand. His fingers. He can still feel Young's tongue on them, smoothing over his skin, cleaning him off, and _Christ_ , but the man knows how to push his buttons. Young keeps surprising him, continually confronting him with how unexpectedly good it is, how much he loves this, with Young, and there's something deeply unsettling about that. It makes him want to bewilder the other man, rattle him. Have him be on an equally uneven keel as Rush feels, himself. 

The storage closet had been a delightful little idea, and they'd gotten away with it unspotted. But afterwards Young had turned serious, had said they couldn't do that again, not unless Rush was prepared to have their dirty laundry aired all over the ship, and Rush grudgingly had to agree. 

It means he'll have to think of yet another way to wind Young up. Because seeing him off-kilter, unbalanced, is by far the most effective way of quieting the nervous jitters in his own stomach. In fact, it's fast becoming one of his favorite pastimes. 

The way Young moans when he's turned on and surprised, wanton and just a tad indignant, echoes in Rush's ears. Yes, Young is quite wonderful when he loses his bearings. 

The crackle of his radio pulls him out of his own head. It's Young. 

_“Rush, can you come to my quarters for a minute?”_

His voice sounds businesslike and a little strained, and very much in Commanding Officer mode. If Young thinks that's going to make him obey without question he's in for a rude awakening. It actually has the complete opposite effect; it makes Rush want to rile him up, to challenge him, to make him break character. He smirks and licks his lips. 

He does something stupid. 

He switches over to one of the private channels, and says, “Only if you promise to let me fuck you afterwards, Colonel. I haven't heard you beg in a while.” 

For three seconds he feels accomplished, imagining Young trying to think of a comeback, that telltale flush creeping higher up his neck. Then everything just sort of implodes. 

_“...Telford is here.”_ In the background, he's pretty sure he hears someone say “What the fuck?” 

Fuck. 

_Fuck_ , this is bad. 

This is... God, how could he have been so careless? And not just about the radio, about all of it. He hadn't intended for it to ever go this far. He certainly hadn't intended for anyone to ever find out. And _Telford_ , of all people. Fuck! This is the worst fucking way this could possibly play out. 

Rush curses as he runs over to Young's quarters. 

He hears Telford's voice all the way down the hall, Young's door must still be open. For a quick second he's glad it's dinner time, because at least the corridor is empty right now. At least they don't have an audience. Telford sounds exasperated and somewhat confused and altogether pissed off, like them having sex is somehow a personal insult to _him_. 

He slows his footsteps. 

-

“Seriously, Everett! What the hell are you thinking? _Rush_?” Telford says, and he looks affronted. 

“I really don't see how this is any of your business, David.” 

“I thought you were straight,” Telford says, and it actually sounds petulant. 

Young shrugs dismissively. “Apparently not. Is that going to be a problem?” 

Telford shakes his head, not in answer, but seemingly just to gather his thoughts. There's something about the set of his shoulders, the slightest bit slumped, that makes him look almost defeated. 

“Jesus. You're fucking Rush. Fucking _Rush_. I just... I don't understand it.” 

And something about that rankles him. Deeply. Raises his hackles in a way that slightly surprises him, actually. 

“I'm not just _fucking_ him, David,” he spits out. 

Telford looks at him then, face momentarily open and easy to read. There's shock there, and something else, something entirely too close to betrayal. “What, you're _in love_ with him?” 

Young frowns. That's...it's—love is...he wouldn't have phrased it that way himself, probably. It's... He and Rush don't really talk about it, what they've been doing for the past few months; it's just something that _is_. And, well. Neither of them is particularly adept at expressing their feelings through words. 

But – and this realization startles him a little – he does have feelings for Rush. Pretty fucking big feelings, actually. Big enough that he's not going to deny them to Telford. Fuck it. He's not going to downplay what he feels for Rush just so David can sleep easier at night. 

“Yes,” he says simply. 

The silence that follows is deafening, and Young doesn't miss the way David's face falls before he tightens his expression back up into something stricter, something more controlled. 

Rush's sudden appearance in the doorway snaps their attention away from each other. 

“Mr. Brody,” Rush says into his radio. “Sever Telford's connection right now.” His voice is low and soft, dangerous, and shit, how much did Rush hear? This isn't something they've discussed, this isn't something Rush knew – it wasn't even something Young knew, not really – and God, Rush looks really fucking angry. 

“Uh, what,” Volker says, looking down at the military fatigues Telford had insisted on wearing. 

“You, _OUT!_ ” Rush all but yells, and with a confused look at Young, Volker scurries away. 

Rush slams his hand down on the door mechanism, locks it, and narrows his eyes at Young. 

“Look, Rush,” he starts to say, hands up slightly in defense, and then Rush is across the room, lightning quick, and kissing him. 

It's...it's not what he expected, and he needs a few seconds to process what's happening, but then Rush slides his hands into his hair and angles his face towards him roughly, and everything just kind of slots into place. His stomach does a little flip when he realizes Rush isn't angry, he's turned on. Young makes a soft noise into Rush's mouth, and the way Rush sucks on his tongue in response is enough to blank out the rest of the world for a bit. 

Rush walks him backwards until Young's knees hit the bed, and pushes him onto it with a little more force than necessary. Immediately, he climbs on top of him, tearing off his own shirts in one smooth move, and then he's on him again, sucking kisses into the skin right below his ear, working his way down his neck as he unzips Young's jacket and pushes it open. 

Young is on his back, letting Rush bite at his throat. Letting him dip his hands under his shirt, rake his nails over his chest. Letting him take what he wants. There's a certain voracity to Rush's movements, a possessiveness in his touches, that makes Young feel like a king. Rush wants him, _really_ wants him, and the thought is as wonderfully perplexing as it was the first time they slept together. 

Rush helps him take off his jacket and peels him out of his shirt, and then he's gone, rummaging through Young's bedside drawer and coming up with a condom and the jar of lube. With a flutter of anticipation, Young sits up, unlaces his boots, and takes them off. Then he quickly strips himself all the way. When he glances up, Rush is looking at him appraisingly, and really, the dark spark of unadulterated lust in his eyes shouldn't affect Young the way it does. He's too old, too experienced, to feel _shy_. But for a second he does, anyway.

Rush toes off his shoes and steps closer until he's standing in front of him, in between his knees. He drops the items on the bed, next to Young, and then runs his fingers through Young's hair. It's sweet, almost covetous, like Young is special to him, and it always hits him hard when he realizes that Rush is the one making him feel this way. 

Young moves his hands up wordlessly, slides his fingers over the edge of skin where jeans meet abdomen. He unbuckles Rush's belt, intensely aware of his own arousal standing on proud display against his belly, before unbuttoning and unzipping Rush's pants and guiding them down his legs. He looks up at Rush's face, intent and flushed as he watches Young's movements, before flicking his eyes back down to Rush's crotch. 

Rush is hard in his underwear, and Young slightly adjusts the waistband so that the tip peeks out from over it. Oh, that looks nice. He can't think to do anything but lean forward to place an open mouthed kiss on the exposed head of Rush's cock. His tongue darts out to lick at the slickness there, and the sharp inhale above him makes the whole thing feel acutely real. 

He sucks Rush further inside his mouth as he slowly drags his underwear lower, until they too are down around his ankles. Rush could easily step out of them, but instead he moans and slides his fingers through Young's hair, massaging his scalp gently, applying only the slightest pressure to get him to move forward, to take in more of his cock. Young obliges him, if only for a moment or two, and then he draws away with a wet sound. 

He grins at the whiny noise Rush makes in the back of his throat. 

“I thought you said you were going to fuck me,” he rasps, and his voice comes out much less flippant than he'd intended. 

Rush's reaction is immediate, his eyes darken and his nostrils flare, and then he's stepping out of his pants and peeling off his socks. Young scoots back until he's in the middle of the bed, and then Rush is on him again, in between his legs, pushing him down with a hand on his chest. 

It's still new, being with someone who can _take_ him, the way he can take them. It's vastly different and strangely terrifying and so fucking intense sometimes he thinks just the thought of it might be enough to make him come. 

“Don't worry, Colonel,” Rush rumbles above him, grazing his nails across Young's nipples softly. “I'll do it just the way you like it.” 

God, yes. 

Rush doesn't waste any time, sitting back on his knees and screwing the lid off the jar of lubricant. He looks Young in the eye as he dips his fingers in, and Young feels his heart do a little somersault as he spreads his legs wider and angles his hips up slightly. 

They don't do this very frequently; it takes time and preparation and patience that they don't allow themselves as often as they might want to. Still, Young's hardly a blushing virgin anymore. 

But Rush keeps looking at him like this is a pledge, a vow, and Young can't shake the feeling that this is important somehow; that there's something different about this time. The nerves flitting through his chest only heighten the anticipatory thrill when Rush rubs two slick fingers against his opening. 

He knows it's coming, but he still lets out a startled gasp when Rush pushes them inside. It immediately draws all his attention to that feeling of being breached, being entered, and the unspoken promise that there will be more to come. 

Rush is amazing at this; his movements quick and fluid but never hurried, never too fast. The first time, Young had been a mess of anxious nerves. And while he'd thought he'd kept it under wraps pretty well, something must've shone through on his face, because Rush had ran his free hand along his flank in a calming gesture, and then he had bent forward to kiss him with such gentleness that Young's heart had felt like it was trying to compress itself. 

Now the jittery sparks in his stomach are not fear, though. Now, it's all about Rush, who looks down at him with an intent look of arousal and something else, something softer. Now, it's about the fingers stretching him deliberately and precisely, sliding deeper to nudge against his prostate every so often. Now, it's about the combined sensations that run through him as Rush squeezes his cock carefully, moves his fingers over him in soft, lubricated strokes that make him shake with need. 

The pleasure builds steadily in his lower belly, and when Rush adds an extra finger, pushing against his walls, prying him open further...the slight burn hurtles everything into overdrive with a suddenness that nearly overwhelms him. 

“Wait, stop!” Young pants raggedly, and he can't hold back the groan as Rush halts his movements. “ _Fuck_ , I'm gonna come if you keep going.” 

Rush huffs out a soft breath, and takes his hand off Young's cock. Then his fingers are moving again, opening him, stretching him, and God, he just wants Rush to fuck him already. 

“Rush, it's good, I'm ready,” he says, and it feels like a plea. Christ, the way Rush is looking at him keeps stealing his breath; that dark look of wonder, like he's seeing something new... With a last circling rub against his prostate, Rush pulls his fingers out. 

“You really want this,” Rush murmurs, and Young doesn't understand how someone so smart seems to have such a hard time wrapping his brain around something so simple. Rush is continually surprised by what has been plain fact for Young since the first time he pressed Rush up against a wall to kiss him. 

“Yeah,” he says, as he reaches up to brush his fingers over Rush's cheek; the rough beard bristle such a contrast to his wispy smooth hair. “I want you.” 

He sees a slight shudder go through Rush's frame, and he drinks in the way Rush closes his eyes and presses his hand against his own erection for a few seconds. 

Then, in a quick flurry of motion, Rush puts the condom on and slicks himself up, before positioning his cock against Young's entrance and leaning in closer, until their faces are almost touching. 

“I want you, too,” Rush breathes against his mouth, and for some reason it sounds like a confession. 

Young groans deeply as Rush slowly pushes inside, and that burn is back; that feeling of almost too much, almost too far, that is so fucking good that it does something to him. Not just physically, but to his emotional state of being as well. 

With a calmness he doesn't feel, he puts his hands on Rush's back, running them over his skin, coaxing him, reassuring him, begging him to keep going. 

Rush's reactions are always beautiful, and this is no exception. He drops his head forward slightly, his lips open and slack against the corner of Young's mouth, and moans a breathy sound as he slides the last couple of inches inside. 

Fuck, he's full, Rush is inside of him, throbbing and alive, and it's not the first time, or the second time, but it's still goddamn bewildering how extraordinary this feels. His own erection is leaking wetness onto his stomach, and God, he's been patient but he really wants Rush to start fucking him now. 

“Rush,” he spurs him on breathlessly, and then he hooks his legs around Rush's hips and urges him to start moving. At first Rush slides in and out of him slowly, carefully, and it draws a shaky sigh from Young's lips. Then he pulls Rush forward with the legs he has wrapped around him so that Rush slams into him deeply, a little rough, and they both moan simultaneously. 

“Fuck,” Rush mutters, and then he's doing it again, and again, until he's rutting into him almost harshly, and Jesus, yes, it's amazing when Rush loses his composure like this. It's intense and fucking decadent, being ravaged this way. It feels like being taken, like being owned; but at the same time every shift, every muscle Young clenches, causes Rush's face to contort in something close to agony. 

They're moving, together, Rush's hips gaining speed, his hand wandering lower to curl around Young's stiff cock, and the tension in Young's lower belly coils tighter and tighter. Almost every stroke is hitting his prostate now, and the hand on his dick is its own kind of perfect torture that adds to his pleasure in a way that leaves him completely unable to hold back. 

“Yes, oh, fuck, I'm...oh, that's...Rush! Oh, _God!_ ” he hears himself babble, and then Rush kisses him, and it feels like he's being invaded from all angles, Rush is everywhere, _inside_ him, and it's so fucking good that he's unable to do anything but scratch his nails into Rush's back as Rush pushes him over the edge. He goes, a staticky wave of white hot bliss shooting through his entire body, making his back arch and his fingertips tingle, and then he's spurting come onto them both, Rush's stomach and his own, and _fuck_ , oh fuck, _God_ , it feels... 

Rush keeps sliding into him, deep and fast, and every time he hits his prostate something like a tingly aftershock shudders through him. 

The low gasped moans Rush lets out are intoxicating, and Young looks on in wonder at the man above him, inside him, working himself into this state of frenzy. 

Then Rush opens his eyes, and their eyes lock, and Young gives him a smile, sated and encouraging and God, he loves Rush, that's what this is, and then Rush buries his face in Young's neck and muffles a cry as his hips stutter spasmodically. He comes, his climax turning into a full body shiver that Young can feel _everywhere_ , and he strokes his hands over Rush's back soothingly as Rush trembles against him helplessly. 

They lie there, together, until their breaths come in less harshly, until Young's tongue doesn't feel like it's asleep anymore, and then Rush pushes himself up on one elbow and pulls out, before rolling onto his back next to Young. 

They're both covered in sweat and come, and after a few moments Young haphazardly reaches for the canteen of water on his nightstand. He wets his discarded undershirt and rubs himself clean. Then he folds it, pours some more water onto it, and moves onto his side to clean Rush. 

Rush lets him, eyes closed and a relaxed expression on his face, and Young watches uninhibitedly at the way Rush's muscles clench slightly at the first contact with the cold fabric. Maybe he spends a little more time than is necessary, wiping gently over every inch of skin, lingering around his nipples and brushing his fingers over them to feel the tight hardness there for himself. Then he moves lower, slips the condom off Rush and ties it into a knot before throwing it somewhere in the vicinity of his wastebasket. 

When he's done, when they're both about as clean as they're going to get without taking an actual shower, he lies back down next to Rush. 

“What's going to happen now?” Rush finally asks. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Now that Telford knows about...this. What's Homeworld Command going to do? Can they force you to switch with him permanently?” 

Young doubts it. Technically speaking, it's their word against Telford's. Legally speaking, they can't force him to step down for this. There's even a chance Telford will keep the whole thing to himself; they've kept other secrets for each other. 

Then again, this could turn into a huge shitstorm; he has no way of knowing. For some reason, though, he's pretty sure they'll be okay. He and Rush, the two of them, working together... Homeworld Command, _Telford_ , none of them would stand a chance. 

“I don't think so,” he says. 

Rush frowns. He doesn't look very reassured. 

“Are you worried about me?” Young asks, and it's kind of amazing, the way Rush turns his eyes away and lets his hair fall over his face, like that can hide his expression. 

“Maybe I just don't like the idea of Telford aboard the ship, leading this mission,” he says, probably aiming for impervious, but ending up somewhere closer to sulking. 

“No, I'm pretty sure you like me.” Young grins and brushes his fingers through Rush's hair slowly. 

Rush catches his hand and squeezes it dangerously. “If you ever touch anyone else like this, I swear to God, I will kill you.” 

Young feels his grin widen. Because yeah, Rush really likes him. 

“You know you're a lot of work, right?” 

Rush rolls his eyes and leans over to press a quick kiss into Young's lips. “You're terrible at this.” Then he sits up and gets out of bed. “We should do some damage control right now. Brody is going to want to know why I made him pull the stone so suddenly, at the very least,” he says as he puts his clothes back on. 

Young gets up as well. Rush is right. Their business might be shipwide gossip by tomorrow if Telford intends to make trouble, but if not, it's best to contain this disaster as well as they can. 

Before Rush reaches for the door control, Young grabs his arm and turns him around. “I meant what I said to Telford, okay? I do. Feel that way, I mean.” 

It's awkward and clunky, and he knows he can do better. But Rush smiles at him anyway.

“Still terrible,” he says. 

But if the way he wraps his arms around Young's neck and kisses him breathless is anything to go by, it wasn't that bad at all.

**Author's Note:**

> YES, TELFORD HAS A CRUSH ON YOUNG. (I can't blame the man, Young is pretty awesome.)


End file.
